


blessed be the boys (time can't capture)

by littlesnowpea



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Humor, M/M, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4215468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/pseuds/littlesnowpea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am going to preemptively answer all of your questions,” Spencer begins. “So pay attention, I don’t like repeating myself.”</p><p>“You’re kind of a bitch,” Brendon observes, and is rewarded with a truly stunning glare.</p><p>“Number one,” Spencer continues, clearly ignoring Brendon’s insult. “Yes, we just time traveled. Number two: it’s the 1920s. Number three: we are in Paris. I think that covers it.”</p><p>“You think answering three questions covers time travel?” Brendon asks incredulously. “Do you hear yourself when you say things? Like, ever?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	blessed be the boys (time can't capture)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spendon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spendon/gifts), [sunflashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/gifts).



> hello, the au queen has struck again! i can't write in band verse apparently! i hope you're ok with that!
> 
> a few things you are probably concerned about: 
> 
> -yep. yeah. mhm. shane's the main dick in this. i'll stop using him when a bigger asshole comes along, but until then, this is how i won't make (most) people mad.
> 
> -"wow what the heCK littlesnowpea you've lulled me into a false sense of security what with all the previous peterick-centric stuff you were writing where did this brENCER trash come from???/?" it came from my trash heart, where trash ships live [heart eyes].
> 
> enjoy!

The first time, it was an accident in every sense of the word. 

Brendon was twelve, chasing his new puppy as she raced towards the front gate, left gaping and open, and Brendon knew that once the golden retriever slipped through, it would be next to impossible to get her back.

He just sort of —wished, really, and all of a sudden the entire world went still and quiet. 

Everything was frozen. Nothing moved-not the wind in the air, not the trees- nothing. Around him, birds seemed stuck in the sky they flew. The flag his parents had hanging on their porch was stiff like some cartoon, stuck where it had been flapping in the breeze. Behind him, his mother was completely frozen in the doorway, mouth open where she was yelling at him to run faster.

Most importantly, in front of him, his dog had stopped, too, and as confused as Brendon was he wasn’t going to let this slip by. He scrambled over to her and grabbed her collar-and just like that, the world sprang into motion again.

The gate stayed closed after that, and Brendon’s mind stayed racing. 

So Brendon began figuring it out. Started realizing that he was actually stopping time, actually freezing the world-at least the world around him, he wasn’t sure what happened far away-for as long as he needed it.

And Brendon honestly only used it when he needed it. When he saw the bus pull up and he knew he wouldn’t get there in time-no problem. When he slept through his alarm-he was never late. Honest to God, he only used it when he needed it.

At first.

It was when he started broadening his horizons, so to speak, that things went wrong.

—

It was Ryan’s fault. Brendon feels one hundred percent confident blaming this on Ryan- he deserves it. 

It was Ryan’s fault. Ryan, who kissed him and fucked him late last night, drunk and mumbling about his eight am the next morning. Ryan, who looked right through Brendon the next day like Brendon was a high schooler, not a junior in college. Ryan, who wrinkled his nose and said _ew, ugh_ when asked about the kiss.

It’s Ryan’s fault, damnit. 

Anyway, because of Ryan, Brendon is waiting for Ryan’s roommate to leave for his next class. As soon as Brendon sees the door open and the roommate step through, he freezes time. 

He’s been doing it so long, it’s old habit- slipping around people carefully, not disturbing anything that had been before he froze it. He can’t leave any carpet rumpled or hair messed up, or _god forbid_ touch anyone. When he was still learning, he’d done it accidentally, and the person freaked when time started up again. 

So now, Brendon is careful. He slides through the partially closed door and into the empty room before exhaling hard and looking around.

He has about five minutes. A slow, vengeful grin crosses his face as he takes in Ryan’s side of the room-his clothes, his immaculate clothes, his precious record collection-Brendon knows how much that collection means to Ryan, he’s heard it countless times.

He grabs a handful and sets to work, slipping them out of their sleeves and ruining them. Some get his keys, running over and over until the vinyl is criss-crossed with scars. Some get broken in half, some smashed completely. Brendon has planned this.

He leaves three, the three Ryan loves the most, and walks to the window, already imagining the look on Ryan’s face when he sees these three records (and probably his awful clothes, for posterity) scattered on the ground, seven floors down.

He slides it open and his heart stops in his chest, a slow stutter-thump before it just _drops._ Outside, it’s still and silent, the way it always is when Brendon freezes things. He sees everything he expects, students turned to lifelike statues, frozen in their game of frisbee or their suntanning, but what stops his heart isn’t any of that, no.

What stops his heart is the brown haired man standing in the quad, looking up and eyes locked on the window Brendon is standing in. Brendon can’t tell if he’s frozen or not-he’s still, yeah, but even seven floors up Brendon can see a knowing smirk on the man’s face. Something about the man, his look or his posture, frightens Brendon, and he’s not sure what to do. 

He steps closer to the window and looks at the man again, considering.

Slowly, the main raises his hand, and waves.

—

Brendon is completely out of breath by the time he bursts out the front doors and into the quad, looking around frantically. The air has the eerie still quality that Brendon is used to from messing with time all his life, but the brown haired man has vanished.

Brendon’s heart is hammering, but he can’t stand here forever, searching for a stranger in a frozen crowd. He sucks in a deep breath and releases his grip on time, allowing life to start back up again around him as he closes his eyes and just breathes.

—

“That was your ex’s dorm, right?”

Brendon shouts and freezes time as an instinctual reaction, but he only gets a laugh.

“You’ve gathered that doesn’t work on me, right?” it’s that man, that strange man from the quad, and he’s _sitting on Brendon’s bed._ “Unfreeze time before you forget.”

Brendon complies, though he stays tense at the door, eying the stranger warily.

“Anyway,” the man says, as if this is totally not strange at all. “I’m right, yeah? Your ex’s dorm?”

“No,” Brendon finally says slowly. “Just an insulting hookup.”

“That’s a lot of effort for an insulting hookup,” the man comments. “You were passionate about destroying perfectly good records, after all. What did he do to deserve that?”

“He showed pictures to his buddies, then said I was a gross fag,” Brendon retorts hotly, before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, how did you even fucking _know_ I destroyed records? You only saw me at the window.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I was watching you from the other bed,” the stranger says matter-of-factly, like that isn’t creepy as hell. “You were very into it- you didn’t even see me.”

What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” Brendon breathes, echoing his own thoughts. “I don’t even know what’s happening. I’m going to close my eyes, freeze time, and you will be gone. Yeah. What the fuck.”

“You’re not going to do that,” the stranger snaps, irritated. “I’m here whether or not you want me here. I have not gone looking across centuries to find you to just leave.”

“The _fuck?_ ”

“You’re not actually going to tell me time travel isn’t real, are you?” the stranger frowns. “You _freeze time,_ don’t tell me this is what’s weird to you.”

“There is a lot about this situation that’s weird to me,” Brendon mutters. “And the time travel wasn’t what I was referring to. I don’t even know your _name,_ how the fuck do you even know me well enough to search for me?”

The stranger sighs.

“I have served countless kings, faked countless deaths, and waded through epidemics to find you, Brendon Urie,” he says lowly. “I have looked for you _forever_ because I _need you._ You’re the only one who can help.”

“Help _what?”_ Brendon demands, knowing he sounds petulant now but not caring in the slightest.

“October 2019,” the stranger answers, like it’s an actual answer.

Brendon stares at him until the man sighs again.

“On October 14th, 2019, a 9.5 earthquake will strike Northern California,” the stranger elaborates. “It will kill almost a half million people. We need you because we think you can help us save over ninety percent of those lives.”

“2019?” Brendon asks weakly. “How do you-“

“What part of ‘time travel’ don’t you understand?” the man snaps irritably. 

“All of it,” Brendon replies hotly. “But I’m disregarding the mechanics and accepting you just fucking….know about the future. Whatever. I am still confused on _how the fuck do you know me?”_

“Is that all?” the stranger asks mildly, and Brendon swears to God he will start calling him Doucheass soon.

“Your name will also be nice,” Brendon snarks back. “Or I’ll have to make one up for you.”

“My name really isn’t important,” Doucheass says, and Brendon narrows his eyes.

“Ok, Doucheass,” Brendon replies easily. He can play this game, too.

“Will you just trust me?” Doucheass asks, voice strangled. 

Brendon smirks.

“How am I supposed to trust someone who won’t tell me their name?” he asks. “Also, trust you with _what?”_

Doucheass sighs and grabs Brendon’s hand.

“My name is Spencer,” he finally says before Brendon feels the air knocked out of him and the world goes black. 

—

“Brendon.” 

Brendon groans at the voice that seems to be approximately fifty billion decibels. 

“Brendon, open your eyes,” Brendon vaguely remembers this voice, he thinks.

He groans again, and the person sighs. 

“Brendon, your head will continue to hurt until you open your damn eyes,” it’s Doucheass- Brendon vaguely remembers an actual name before he was _run over with a fucking truck_ , but he can’t be bothered to really call him it.

“Why are you,” Brendon says rhetorically. “The fuck-”

“Drink this,” Doucheass-ok, _Spencer_ \- says, handing him a cup. Brendon looks at it blearily. 

“What is it?” he asks finally and Spencer rolls his eyes.

“The natives call it ‘water’,” he says condescendingly. “It might help.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Brendon mutters, before obeying. 

“I am going to preemptively answer all of your questions,” Spencer begins. “So pay attention, I don’t like repeating myself.”

“You’re kind of a bitch,” Brendon observes, and is rewarded with a truly stunning glare.

“Number one,” Spencer continues, clearly ignoring Brendon’s insult. “Yes, we just time traveled. Number two: it’s the 1920s. Number three: we are in Paris. I think that covers it.”

“You think answering three questions covers time travel?” Brendon asks incredulously. “Do you hear yourself when you say things? Like, ever?”

“What the hell else do you want to even know?” Spencer snaps. “And if you could please walk and talk, that would be stellar.”

“First question,” Brendon says, staying firmly put. “If we’re _really_ in 1920s Paris, aren’t we going to stick out a little in our modern clothes?”

Spencer smirks.

“Time travel involves excessive forces that clothing can’t withstand,” he says, matter-of-factly. “So the idea of your old clothing is a moot point.”

Brendon stares at him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” is what he finally settles on asking first. “Listen, would it kill you to actually fucking explain one single thing that leaves your mouth at least _once?”_

Spencer sighs. 

“Time travel rips your clothes,” he says witheringly. “That’s why people actually _doing_ time travel have spandex under the clothes of that era.”

Brendon looks down quickly, and sure enough, he’s dressed in a passable imitation of 1920s attire, and he can feel the uncomfortable pinch and tug of what must be spandex underneath.

“Wait,” Brendon asks, and Spencer groans. “No, really, wait-so I was _naked?_ And you _dressed_ me?”

“Try and hold it together,” Spencer sighs. “I could have let you run around naked in every era we land in.”

“Oh _thanks,”_ Brendon snaps. “I didn’t actually sign up for or agree to any of this shit, you know.”

“You signed up for it the moment you accepted the fact that you can control time,” Spencer shrugs. “It’s not my fault you didn’t actually do anything with your gift besides petty revenge on exes.”

“Not an ex,” Brendon reiterates sourly. “And also not your business. But thanks.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow.

“Whatever you say,” he shrugs. “Are you ready? We’re meeting my boss, maybe try and keep your mouth shut. He’s not big on sass. And he is big on indiscriminate killing.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Brendon mutters, but follows when Spencer leads.

—

Spencer’s boss looks like a fucking tool. Brendon’s not sure what time period he actually was born in, but he’s guessing the guy felt most comfortable in the 2000s fuckboy aesthetic. 

Brendon’s pretty sure the guy has _grillz._

And he doesn’t seem the slightest concerned about blending in.

“Yo!” Spencer’s boss snaps in front of Brendon’s face, and he has to work to not scowl. “Brandan? Brennan?”

“Brendon,” Brendon says with a passive-aggressive smirk. Spencer’s boss shrugs.

“Whatever,” he says, and Brendon refrains from an eyeroll. “Spenny over here has been looking for you for quite awhile. I was concerned for a bit that he wouldn’t succeed. He’s the best agent I’ve got, I really didn’t want to have another Pete situation on my hands.”

Brendon catches Spencer’s tense look and raises an eyebrow.

“Bet you’re wondering what a _Pete situation_ is,” Spencer’s boss says with a laugh not unlike the sound a dolphin makes when cornered. “Well, don’t you worry, I’ll tell ya. Don’t want you to get caught up with the wrong people, now.”

Brendon smiles placidly and Spencer’s boss-Brendon’s going to call him Majestic Dolphin until he figures out his name- laughs again, loud and braying.

He slaps a photo onto the table in front of him and slides it across to Brendon, looking all the world like a high school boy starting shit.

“This is Pete,” Majestic Dolphin says firmly. “If you see him-and I have no doubt you will see him, he’s getting a little desperate-it is vital that you turn and you run. Find Spencer immediately. Pete is unhinged and dangerous, and the last thing I want is you in danger.”

Majestic Dolphin gives Brendon a twisted grin that spells out exactly what part of Brendon he actually values. 

“May I ask a question?” Brendon begins diplomatically, not looking at Spencer. 

Majestic Dolphin nods, surveying Brendon steadily.

“Is this Pete guy,” Brendon says slowly. “Is he likely to actually hurt me?”

Majestic Dolphin laughs, but it’s changed now, low and dark.

“Like I said before,” he says coldly. “He’s getting a little desperate. I have no doubt he’d do anything to get back what he’s lost.”

Spencer looks sharply over to Majestic Dolphin at that, and though his features immediately smooth over, Brendon is inexplicably glad that Majestic Dolphin’s attention was focused on Brendon and not Spencer.

An uneasy pit forms in the middle of his stomach. He’s not sure he wants to be involved in this at all.

Majestic Dolphin waves a hand.

“Dismissed, Spenny,” he announces, sounding bored. “We will complete the mission in the timeframe scheduled, barring any unforeseen complications. Make sure Braden knows his ropes.”

“Shane,” Spencer says, his voice the picture of calm and collected. He reaches out and grabs Brendon’s shoulder firmly, steering him out of the bar and into a side alley.

Brendon feels like he can’t breathe.

“Spencer,” he says, a little waveringly. “I’m not sure-”

“He has that effect on people,” Spencer says quickly. “Shh, one second, okay?”

Brendon nods dumbly. Spencer glances down the alley and then up at the surrounding buildings, surveying for spectators before reaching for Brendon’s hand.

“We’ll jump, and then we’ll talk,” he says firmly, and Brendon just nods again, gripping Spencer’s hand and bracing himself for the unpleasant twist that he experienced before. 

—

Brendon’s not sure what time they’ve landed in, but he doesn’t really want to ask questions. Spencer has a look on his face that screams fury and devastation and Brendon has no idea what’s happening. 

So he keeps his mouth shut and dutifully follows Spencer up a fire escape and into a one room apartment. 

They’re in New York, Brendon can tell, but the year is completely unfathomable. 

“Right, so,” Spencer says suddenly. “Here, I’ve got clothes that’ll probably fit. My plans have changed slightly.”

“Ok,” Brendon replies quietly, and takes the offered clothes without comment.

Spencer shoots him a look.

“No questions?” he asks, sounding somewhat amused. 

Brendon shrugs.

“Something seems wrong,” he answers finally. “You seem upset. I don’t want to add to it.”

Spencer sighs, long and slow, before sinking onto the floor, back propped against the wall. He scrubs his hands across his face before looking up at Brendon.

“The _“Pete situation”_ is what’s wrong,” he begins, lips curling around the phrase like it’s foul. “The lies that Shane told me, that’s what’s wrong. Not that I didn’t expect to be lied to, but this is way bigger-I’m angry I believed it.”

“Ok,” Brendon says slowly, easing himself down to sit beside Spencer. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is, first.”

“Pete is a great guy,” Spencer sighs. “A fantastic jumper, a _perfect_ pawn for Shane. He has, or had, a partner, who was a beautiful compliment to Pete in every way. Together, they were Shane’s dream team, and I’m not sure how he got them into jumping, but I have a suspicion one or both of them needed help and Shane gave it- for a price.”

“The price being obeying Shane?” Brendon asks, and Spencer nods. 

“But, see, they’ve been with him since before I was with him,” Spencer says. “I don’t know what kind of debt lasts that long. Now I’m starting to see why Shane forced them to stay-I know they were his prized possession.”

“What did they do?” Brendon asks. “I mean, they jump through time, like you, but for what?”

“I just started jumping,” Spencer says softly. “My only task has been to find you. It’s taken a year. Pete and Patrick? Well, they do what Shane says. And Shane has an appetite for precious historic art-or the money it fetches, rather. They’re usually sent to procure it.” 

“Steal it,” Brendon realizes, the pieces slowly falling together. “They must’ve way outstayed their debt. How would Shane keep them? I mean, if he forces them into theft, I can’t imagine they’re actually enjoying it.”

“No,” Spencer agrees. “They really don’t. And it was this one job Shane sent them on-a different one, not to steal an artifact, no-to kidnap a child, and derail a huge corporation that would exist in the future that this child would inherit. They were to kidnap him and bring him here for Shane to kill-or for Shane to force one of them to kill, because he’s a sadist like that.”

“If killing the kid stops the corporation, couldn’t you undo the killing by going back again?” Brendon asks. “I mean, couldn’t they just allow it to happen then sneak back and undo it?”

“Not in this case,” Spencer says simply. “The rules of jumping exist for a reason-people found out the hard way. And one rule is that you cannot get hurt outside of the era you were born in. It fucks with your whole existence. And if you _die_ outside your era, that’s it. No do-overs. You are erased from history. That’s why it was a kidnapping mission, not a murder mission.”

“Fuck,” Brendon breathes. 

“Basically,” Spencer sighs. “All of that is irrelevant though, because they never did it. They jumped off grid-they ran away. But Shane has people _everywhere_. You can’t escape him for long. And-”

Spencer abruptly buries his head in his hands and sighs shakily. Brendon cautiously reaches out to card a hand through his hair until he looks back up again, eyes watery but fierce. 

“See, this is where the stories got confused,” Spencer says. “Because there’s what Shane told me, and there’s the truth, and I’m not even sure what the truth is.”

“Well, what was the lie?” Brendon asks, and Spencer swallows. 

“According to Shane,” he says, grimacing. “They jumped, ran for it, and Shane found them-but he found a crazed Pete, covered in blood, and a dead Patrick.”

“What the fuck,” Brendon whispers. “What the actual fuck, why would he-”

Spencer holds up a hand to stall his outburst, jaw clenching.

“I should’ve realized it was a lie,” Spencer manages, after a deep breath. “Pete is _devoted_ to Patrick, why did I ever believe-never mind. It’s not true.”

 _“‘To get back what he’s lost’,”_ Brendon says slowly, going back to their meeting with Shane. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“To get back Patrick,” Spencer says suddenly, scrambling off the floor. “It means-Pete is a master of escaping, there’s no reason he’d be anywhere near Shane if he didn’t have to. It means he has to. He’s lost Patrick, he’s trying to get him back!”

“Back from _where?”_ Brendon cuts in, hastily following suit. “Where the hell could Shane have taken him?”

“Well, that’s the question isn’t it?” Spencer answers. He runs a hand through his hair and faces the window, forehead wrinkling as he takes in the city. “Where the fuck does Shane have Patrick?”

Brendon swallows, and meets Spencer’s eyes as he turns around.

There’s a long pause. 

“Brendon, there’s no earthquake,” Spencer admits finally. “My whole job was to bring you back here and convince you to join us-but I won’t. I’m-I’m going off grid, I can’t do Shane’s work anymore.”

“If you go off grid, you’ll lose any hope of finding Patrick,” Brendon says sharply. “So don’t. Play along. I will, too. Stay on Shane’s side, or so he thinks, because otherwise Patrick’s as good as gone.”

“Shane is _dangerous,”_ Spencer argues. “Do you know what Shane was planning on having me do to you if you wouldn’t join?”

“Probably kill me,” Brendon answers with a shrug, though he feels a twist in his gut at the cavalier words. “He’s fucking evil, I understand that. But unfortunately for you, I am not actually the kind of person who will walk away when I find out about something like this. So like it or not, I’m staying, and seeing as how I hid my sexuality from my parents for four years while sneaking in boyfriends under their nose, I think you could use me.”

Spencer narrows his eyes.

“What happened to the confused and scared kid?” he demands. “The one who listened to me because I had all the answers?”

Brendon scowls. 

“You never had all the answers,” he snaps back. “And besides-even if you dropped me at home, I’m still in danger. Shane could still find me. So thanks, but no thanks. I’m going to help.”

Spencer glares at him and Brendon holds his gaze challengingly until Spencer sighs. 

“Fucking listen to me, then,” he hisses. “Because you don’t know what you are getting into.”

—

Brendon has visited thirteen different eras, in seven cities, in the space of two days.

He’s got what Spencer calls “jumper’s lag”.

Spencer is laughing at him.

“Fuck off,” Brendon mumbles, waving his middle finger where he thinks Spencer is. “I’m dying here.”

“You’re not dying,” Spencer says, exasperated. “It’ll go away soon. Try not to vomit.”

“Thanks,” Brendon says through gritted teeth as his stomach lurches almost in response to Spencer’s words. “Really helps.”

“Try and pull yourself together,” Spencer says witheringly. “You’re on my last nerve.”

Brendon smirks despite the nausea. 

“I’ve been on many people’s last nerve,” he says slyly. “It usually ends with them either punching me or leaving, and you look nowhere near either of those. Do you even know how to punch?”

“I could demonstrate it,” Spencer mutters, but doesn’t address anything else. 

Brendon takes it as a victory and does a small cheer in response. Internally, because he’s not really sure how far Spencer can be pushed until he actually strangles Brendon. 

“Where are we now?” Brendon asks instead of another taunt. “Are we visiting like, the dinosaurs?”

“This isn’t _Jurassic Park,”_ Spencer says dryly. “And I can’t actually jump to periods humans didn’t live in.”

“I don’t know, there are some people who believe humans lived then,” Brendon points out. “Also, answer my question.”

“You are the most demanding person I have ever met,” Spencer sighs, but Brendon already knows that. “We’re in Chicago. Sixties.”

“You think Pete’s here?” Brendon asks curiously. “What’s different between the sixties in Chicago versus Seattle?”

“He was born in Chicago,” Spencer answers. “They both were. Not in the sixties, but that’s the most likely aesthetic. It’s Patrick’s favorite.”

“Oh,” Brendon says. “Won’t that be the first place Shane looks?”

Spencer laughs derisively-not at Brendon, because he knows that that feels like, but probably at this whole situation. 

“Shane doesn’t know a damn thing about anyone,” he snorts. “He thinks I was born in Canada.”

“Incredible,” Brendon breathes. “Absolutely incredible. If you think he’s here, though, why’d we jump so much?”

“To keep Shane off our tail longer,” Spencer shrugs. “And making you comfortable with jumping is one thing I’m supposed to be doing.”

“That’s smart,” Brendon says, and Spencer narrows his eyes slightly.

“You sound surprised,” he mutters, and Brendon grins winningly.

“Only a little,” he says with as much condescension as possible, and Spencer sighs.

“Will you put on the shirt?” he asks, frustrated. _“Please?”_

“Much better, Spencer,” Brendon says with a wide grin before complying. “See how easy manners are?”

“Literally fuck off,” Spencer mutters. “C’mon, through that door.”

He’s gesturing towards a door at the dark end of the alley and listen, Brendon was not actually born yesterday.

“Like _hell,”_ he says hotly. “Absolutely not, nope. This is how people die in horror movies. I’m not going to be that person.”

 _“Go,”_ Spencer growls, and Brendon shuts his mouth with an audible _click._

“Ok,” he mumbles meekly, and cautiously pushes the door open after Spencer’s meaningful nudge. “He’s-you think he’s in here?”

“I think he’ll be able to hear us in here,” Spencer says. “Do _not_ ask questions right now.”

Brendon puts down his raised hand with a sigh. The door swings shut behind them, echoing in the dark room. Brendon gulps before stumbling towards the dim light shining in from the window, looking around apprehensively.

“Will you stop?” Spencer hisses. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Brendon is inclined to believe it. He stops when Spencer grabs his arm, and bites his lip when Spencer turns him around.

“You have a lot of questions, I get that,” he whispers. “I don’t blame you. I’m going to try and explain as I go, but you’ve just got to accept it if you don’t understand. I don’t want to scare Pete off.”

Brendon nods numbly.

“Ok,” Spencer continues in the same hushed voice. “I’m going to call for Pete. No, he’s not here right now. Yes, he can hear me-everyone with this _ability_ to jump can hear when we call to each other. No, Shane can’t hear, I’m not addressing him. If Pete wants to talk, he’ll jump here. If he doesn’t…well. We’ll have to figure it out.”

Brendon nods again, and Spencer squeezes his arm gently. 

“I’m really sorry you got dragged into this,” he confesses quietly. “I am.”

Spencer doesn’t give Brendon time to answer-just turns and faces the dark room.

“Ok,” he repeats, mostly to himself, before raising his voice. “Pete?”

Dead silence.

“Pete,” Spencer’s pleading, and Brendon is shaking. “Pete, it’s Spencer. I know you don’t want to be found, especially not by Shane. I know you think I’m with him. But Pete, I didn’t-I didn’t know. He never said. I thought-I just thought you both deserted. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Brendon cuts in quickly, mind racing. “Elaborate. It’s what my mom always said for apologies, anyway.”

Spencer shoots him a look, but continues. 

“I didn’t know Shane took Patrick,” Spencer says desperately. “He told me, he told us a different story. He said you went crazy and killed Patrick. I didn’t know he was lying. I hope you understand, I hope you know me well enough to believe me when I say if I had known, I would have _never-”_

“Do you know where he is?”

Brendon yelps and jumps, clutching Spencer’s arm tightly. Spencer steps slightly in front of Brendon, facing the shadows that the voice had come from.

“No,” Spencer answers. “But I want to help. _We_ want to help. Please.”

Complete silence follows Spencer words, until the shadows shift and a man edges out, eying them distrustfully. Tattoos cover every bit of skin Brendon can see, save for his face, and the circles under his eyes read speeches on his misery without saying a word.

 _“Who_ is that?” the man asks, gesturing towards Brendon. “And why is he here?

“He’s my mission,” Spencer answers. “His name is Brendon.”

The man-he must be Pete-surveys Brendon quickly.

“You actually found him, then,” Pete says. It’s a statement, not a question, but Spencer nods anyway. 

“He wants to help, too,” Spencer says. 

Pete narrows his eyes.

“You brought your mission off grid?” he demands harshly. “Are you fucking crazy?”

 _“You_ try telling him no!” Spencer returns hotly. “And I’m not off grid, not totally. Shane still thinks I’m working for him. I didn’t want to lose all chance of finding Patrick.”

Brendon can see the tension mount in Pete’s body at the mention of Patrick.

“I don’t even have a hint,” Pete mutters. “Not one clue. Shane is fucking _good_ when he wants to be. And I’m sure he wants to be.”

“He must be waiting for something,” Brendon pipes up. He’s still not entirely sure Pete want to acknowledge his existence, but he has to try. “He must want something from you.”

Pete stares at him.

“He’s taking revenge,” he says slowly, like Brendon’s an idiot. “It was my fucking idea in the first place, this whole situation was primarily my doing-it’s my fault Patrick’s with him.”

Brendon sighs.

“If he was taking revenge, why would he keep Patrick around otherwise?” he points out. “I mean, I’ve only met Shane once, but he seems like the kind of guy who would brag about killing someone. And if he’s taking revenge, why would he keep Patrick alive? That doesn’t make sense.”

Pete’s still staring, though Brendon can see him working through the pieces. 

“Brendon’s got a point,” Spencer says slowly. “Much as it pains me to admit it, he’s got a point.”

“Thanks,” Brendon mutters, but they both ignore him. 

“What would he be waiting for?” Pete asks. “I have nothing to give him, he knows that.”

“The job to be completed?” Brendon asks, and Pete _hmms._

“As far as I know, it already was,” Spencer says. “It was a time crunch. I think Shane went himself.”

“So what, then?” Pete asks haltingly. “What the fuck does that asshole want from me? Brendon _is_ right, if the intent was to make me suffer, he would’ve killed Patrick and made _sure_ I knew.”

“Unless,” Brendon begins slowly. “Unless-and I have no idea how far fetched this actually is, but maybe Shane doesn’t even _have_ Patrick?”

“I watched him,” Pete says tightly. “With my own eyes I saw him sneak up and jump them both.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he _still_ has Patrick,” Spencer says. “No one but Shane and Patrick know what happened after they jumped. Maybe Shane just wants to make you think he’s got Patrick.”

“To trick me into going back,” Pete continues slowly. “He’s said multiple times if he didn’t have us with him-”

“He’d kill you both,” Spencer finishes. “He controls _everyone_ that has the ability to jump. There’s only a few of us. It’s why he’s so desperate for Brendon. He doesn’t want anyone else to fuck up his plans.” 

“He could either have Patrick and plan to use him to make me come back,” Pete says, running a hand through his hair. “Or he doesn’t have Patrick anymore and is trying to keep up this pretense to trick me.”

“Why wouldn’t Patrick jump to you?” Spencer asks quietly. “If he was free of Shane, wouldn’t he just find you immediately?”

“Maybe he thinks Pete’s dead,” Brendon volunteers. Spencer nods, but Pete shakes his head.

“He would know,” Pete explains softly. “He would know if I had died. Like I would know if he had died. And I know he hasn’t died.”

Brendon wants to question this, but now probably isn’t a good time for that. 

“If that’s true, why hasn’t Patrick jumped to you?” Spencer repeats his question. “Unless-”

“No,” Pete says, immediately and firmly. “No chance. That would make us inactive, and that would be Shane admitting defeat. And if there’s one thing Shane cannot do, it’s admit defeat.”

“Unless what?” Brendon cuts in, then adds hastily. “Sorry.”

“Unless he froze Patrick,” Spencer answers, still looking at Pete. “Which is _entirely plausible,_ Pete, given that it can be entirely temporary. And Shane wouldn’t permanently freeze one half of his dream team, not when I’m positive he desperately wants to drag you both back.”

“If he’s frozen, then he’s _lost,”_ Pete protests desperately. “Which means maybe he’s not with Shane, but Shane knows exactly where he is. So he can’t jump. We can’t even jump him ourselves, like with Brendon.”

“Froze?” Brendon asks timidly. “Like, in ice?”

Pete shakes his head.

“No, frozen is just what it’s called when you can’t jump anymore,” he answers, voice wavering. “Because you’ve lost part of your being, your presence. Jumping is all about your being. Like astral projection, sort of. You project part of your presence, and your body will follow. When you _freeze_ someone-”

Pete cuts off, squeezing his eyes shut.

“When you freeze someone, you’re messing with their mind and their sense of self,” Spencer continues where Pete left off quietly. “You interrupt their jump midway through. Shane’s good at freezing people who piss him off. Usually, unless the person who froze them comes back, it’s-it’s permanent. But it’s not just losing your jumping ability. You’d-you’d go _crazy_ with part of you missing, with no way to connect your pieces back again. It’s how Shane keeps the jumping population thin. He either threatens freezing, or actually does it.”

Brendon bites his lip, eyes wide and watery.

“That’s-that’s so awful,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah,” Pete says hoarsely. “It is.”

“If we find him, and he’s frozen, we can fix it,” Spencer says lowly. “You know we can. There’s two of us, it’s possible.”

“Shane’s quick,” Pete swallows hard. “He could cut the bridge in an instant.”

“Not if Brendon stops time,” Spencer says suddenly, turning to look at Brendon. “No, if Brendon stops time, it _will_ work.”

“I thought it didn’t work on jumpers,” Brendon says, confused.

“It doesn’t work on _me,”_ Spencer says. “I’ve spent the equivalent of centuries learning how to block it. Shane hasn’t, Shane has no idea how you even work. You can stop him. You could stop Pete.”

“So, I stop time, and you somehow…..bring Patrick’s soul back?” Brendon asks. 

Spencer nods before switching tacks midway through and shaking his head.

“No,” he says instead. “You stop everyone but me, Patrick, and Pete. I can’t just bring Patrick’s presence back. Patrick has to call for it.”

“Call for it?” Brendon demands. “Why can’t he call for it now?”

“You need to tell him,” Pete answers. “When you’re frozen, your mind sort of blanks. You forget where you were going before you were knocked off track. You can’t call your soul with no idea where it is.”

“So only Patrick knows where he was jumping before Shane interrupted him?” Brendon asks slowly. “And Patrick is just…..trapped somewhere, now not sure about where he was going or where he is?”

“Sometimes they don’t even remember who they are,” Pete whispers, and Brendon can see him fighting tears. “If it’s been long enough.”

“Not Patrick,” Spencer says firmly. “He’s far too experienced, far too strong to lose himself like that.”

“It’s been _months,”_ Pete protests, voice raw with pain that hurts even Brendon. “There’s only so long-”

“Pete, Patrick’s been at this a lot longer than you,” Spencer says gently. “And regardless, you have to believe Patrick hasn’t lost himself. We have to find him before Shane catches on.”

Pete nods, and his jaw clenches. 

“Patrick,” Pete whispers, and Brendon is suddenly acutely aware that he’s trying to call for Patrick, like Spencer called for Pete. “Patrick, it’s still me. I’m still coming. I promise I’m coming.”

Brendon wants to cry for Pete as the full implications and severity of this whole situation continues to sink in.

—

Chicago in the sixties is nice-or as much as Brendon’s seen of it, at least. They usually stick to the dark room they’d met in, which is apparently an abandoned warehouse Pete’s been staying in. 

They’re trying to narrow down the list of places Patrick could have been planning on jumping to. It doesn’t really help where he might have been knocked to, if he really was frozen. Brendon privately thinks he was frozen, even though he hopes not, because it’s the only solid theory they have. 

It’s been a week so far, and all Brendon can see is Pete growing more and more tense and distraught. It’s painful for Brendon to watch, and for all Spencer won’t admit it at night, with Pete across the room and back to back with Brendon, it’s clear he’s equally upset. 

Brendon wishes for _something_ to break this streak of misery. He and Spencer occasionally jump, at least a couple times a day, to keep Shane off the lookout for them, but Pete doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t want to risk being noticed, not if it compromises finding Patrick.

Brendon can relate. Pete’s shown him a photo he has of them together, creased and worn but still crystal-clear. Brendon might be a little slow on the uptake, sure, but it was at that moment he realized Patrick isn’t _just_ Pete’s jumping partner.

Patrick is Pete’s _everything._

So Brendon prays, though he’s not even sure he believes in God at all anymore, because the look on Pete’s face sometimes feels like a stab to the stomach. 

But as much as Brendon wishes for a sign, he wishes the sign they got on the eighth day never happened in the first place. 

A knock on the door startles them all, and they look at one another in trepidation.

“Pete?”

Spencer’s eyes narrow immediately, but Pete cocks his head. 

“Mikey?” he whispers. Spencer whips his head around to gape at Pete, who ignores him. 

“Pete, I’m not telling Shane where you are,” the voice Pete says is Mikey pleads. “But I have to give you this envelope. They have Gee, Pete. _Please.”_

Pete takes a shuddering breath and crosses to the door, pulling it open quickly, like he’s afraid he’ll change his mind. 

Outside the door is a tall, thin man that Brendon guesses is Mikey. His face is framed by glasses too big for him and he’s shivering. 

In his hand is the envelope he mentioned.

“Shane has Gee?” Pete asks quietly.

Mikey nods, biting his lip.

“If I deliver this to you and get you to draw your mark on my arm,” Mikey says softly. “He’ll let my brother go. He doesn’t care where you are. I have no idea what he’s planning. I don’t.”

The words are rattled off like a script as Mikey takes the pen and scrawls something along the little free space Pete has on his arm. He looks up and meets Pete’s eyes meaningfully.

Pete sucks in a sharp breath and takes the envelope.

“He better let Gerard go,” Pete hisses, drawing what must be his mark along Mikey’s forearm. “Gerard is an innocent bystander. Shane has no business with him.”

“Yeah, well,” Mikey shrugs. “Since he froze Gerard, we don’t have much incentive to do what he says anymore. I guess he found some.”

Mikey’s lip trembles at that and Pete reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. 

“Go,” he tells Mikey. “Go get Gee.”

Mikey nods and is gone with the brief rush of air Brendon’s learned to associate with jumping. Pete barely lets the door swing shut before he’s tearing into the envelope with shaking hands.

“What is it?” Spencer demands, and Brendon’s eyes widen as the blood rushes out of Pete’s face.

“He’s fucking taunting me,” Pete spits, hands shaking. “He _knows.”_

“What _is it?”_ Spencer hisses again, and snatches the envelope from Pete’s hands.

Brendon peeks over Spencer’s shoulder for a look and his heart drops into his stomach.

That-that must be Patrick, who else could it be? And he couldn’t look further from the photo Pete has-it’s like all life has been ripped from him. He’s beaten and bloody and bruised, and underneath his unconscious body someone has scrawled _four days._

“Four days,” Brendon mumbles, swallowing hard. “Is that how long he’s giving you?”

 _“Fuck!”_ Pete whirls around and throws a fist into the wall, not even flinching as the skin shreds on impact. Brendon winces, but Pete stays braced against the wall, chest heaving. 

“This is my fault,” Pete’s voice cracks and a sob is torn from his chest. He sinks to the floor, and Brendon is suddenly very aware that he is watching Pete fall apart. “This is _my fault,_ Patrick didn’t even know the mission, I was the one who decided we weren’t doing it and he just _agreed_ with me because he _trusted_ me and-”

“We are going to fucking find him, Pete,” Spencer’s voice is low, serious. “We are going to find him and bring him back to you and I swear to God you can end Shane.”

“Patrick,” Pete whispers brokenly, and Brendon bites the inside of his cheek hard to keep from crying, too. 

—

It hasn’t even been a day since the picture arrived, but Shane’s already called Spencer.

It was an order, to come back for a meeting, and Spencer spent several agonizing minutes arguing in the corner with Pete, while Brendon was awkwardly standing on the opposite side of the room.

“If he hurts Brendon-” is the only bit that Brendon hears from the discussion, and it sends a small shock through him. 

Spencer’s actually-he’s _worried_ about Brendon.

“Fucking fine,” Spencer hisses, and Brendon watches with wide eyes as he stalks across the room and grabs his hand, dragging him outside without stopping.

“Spencer, what-”

“Shut up,” Spencer mutters, and Brendon feels the familiar vertigo tug sharply at his stomach as they jump.

Brendon’s learned to land with more grace now, which is probably good, considering they land directly in front of Shane, who eyes them with displeasure as he drinks amber liquid from a crystal glass.

“Sir,” Spencer says immediately, yanking Brendon closer. “Has something changed?”

“You tell me,” Shane says coldly. “I expected a progress report.”

“Progress is normal, sir,” Spencer says slowly. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression I was to send you a report if something went wrong.”

Shane scoffs.

“You should check in more often,” he suggests, tone too light to actually be casual. “Then you would know we’re facing a huge problem. Everything must be expedited, including your mission. As of now, where do you stand?”

“Positive, sir,” Spencer says. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything is _not_ fine!” Shane snarls, hurling the glass to the ground. It shatters, sending the alcohol and shards flying at them both. Brendon yelps as a piece cuts into his cheek, and is met with dead silence. 

Shane is glaring at Spencer, with fury that could melt steel, and Spencer’s eyes could kill right now.

Shane abruptly laughs, loud and ugly and mocking.

“Incredible,” Shane smirks, malice lining every inch of his face. “Absolutely incredible. So, even after watching the Pete situation, even after watching the result of Gerard and Frank, you don’t learn?”

Spencer doesn’t answer, eyes just growing colder. 

“Brendon,” Shane says, turning towards him suddenly. Spencer jerks forward a little before catching himself, which only widens Shane’s smirk. “For some reason, I’ve been running into the same problem with this time jumping business. Whenever I have a good team, they inevitably ruin it. Every. Time. The number one devotion of my employees should be to _me,_ and these problems arise once that devotion changes.”

Brendon doesn’t say anything, taking an uncertain half step back. Shane laughs darkly.

“Gerard and Frank were the first, of course,” Shane sighs. “And such good jumpers they were. It was a _shame._ But Gerard fell for Frank and before I knew it, Frank was defying me to protect _Gerard,_ and I can’t have that, you understand. So I terminated Frank and froze Gerard. I’m sure by now Pete has taught you what being frozen means.”

The taunt was slipped in so quickly Brendon almost didn’t register it. 

Spencer did, though, and Brendon watches him pale behind Shane’s back.

Brendon swallows. 

“Now I lost two good jumpers, just because of something stupid like that,” Shane sighs, almost sounding genuinely disappointed. “But then two new jumpers show up, and they are even _better._ My hopes for the future of jumping seemed to be restoring themselves. But then? Same _fucking_ problem. The fucking nerve they had, really, and they hid it so _well._ But I found out and you know what? I was _gracious._ I allowed them to continue because they still _obeyed_ me. I thought allowing them this would build a good relationship between me and them. I was wrong. I was defied, again, and this time it got personal.”

Brendon’s struggling not to shake in terror, now, as Shane advances on him, backing him steadily against the wall. His heart is racing and he’s afraid to blink, afraid Shane could try something in the half second it would take.

He wants Spencer, inexplicably. He _knows_ Spencer would help. 

But Spencer is trapped behind Shane, so Brendon swallows down a whimper and holds still. 

“See, they didn’t just refuse an order,” Shane spat. “They refused and jumped away. Off grid. It was an _insult_ to me, that they thought they could leave, that they thought they were free. You can’t be a jumper without being employed by me. If you leave, you have to agree to be frozen. It’s not difficult. But Pete and _Patrick?_ Not only refused, they blatantly disrespected me. That’s not the kind of thing I let slide. Pete wants to know what I want from him? Besides revenge? Mikey says he was trying to figure it out. Would you like an answer?”

“I’m _sorry!”_ Mikey’s voice echoes across the room, desperate and devastated. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I had to, I had to save Gerard, I’m _sorry-”_

“Mikey’s agreed to be frozen,” Shane announces loudly, over Mikey’s pleas. “I reward assistance, and I offered freedom to him and his stupid brother if he would tell me what on _Earth_ Spencer was up to with my new recruit. And the biggest shock in the world was when I learned that Spencer seems to be on the _Pete_ side of the situation.”

“The situation being that you kidnapped someone?” Brendon returns with malice, before he can stop himself. “That you’ve killed people? That you torture?”

Shane backhands Brendon so hard his teeth cut deep into his other cheek. The sour-strong taste of blood fills Brendon’s mouth as he stares up at Shane, who’s chest is heaving.

“You’re a fucking _child,” _Shane seethes. “What the fuck do _you_ know? Buying into whatever Pete and Spencer tell you?”__

“No,” Brendon hisses, anger thrumming through his veins. “I make my own conclusions. One of which is that you don’t actually have Patrick, do you? I mean, otherwise you’d send a ransom note or whatever. I don’t believe you have him at all.”

Spencer is sending him a confused and horrified look over Shane’s shoulder, but Brendon ignores it. He ignores everything that isn't Shane towering above him, that isn’t Shane’s massive ego that Brendon’s trying to make work for them. 

He’s relying on the assumption that Shane’s ego is so huge he won’t be able to resist showing off Patrick, if he has him. He’s praying Shane’s pride is too large to realize what Brendon is trying to manipulate him into doing.

For once, Brendon’s luck wins. 

“Oh, is that so?” Shane sneers. “Is that what you think with all your logic?”

"Yeah, that’s what I think,” Brendon snaps. “I think you don’t have Patrick. I think you’re a pathetic _liar.”_

For a heartstopping second, Brendon thinks he’s gone too far, that his attempts have been actually noticed, but then a twisted grin spreads across Shane’s face and he buys into Brendon’s exact prediction. 

“Let me show you just how wrong you are,” Shane laughs, and grabs Brendon’s hair.

The pull of jumping hits Brendon again, and he barely hears Spencer’s desperate scream as they vanish to Shane’s whim.

They land hard onto a dirt-packed road, and Shane staggers to his feet, hand still tangled painfully in Brendon’s hair. He yanks Brendon forward, down the road and towards what looks like a forest, fog low and obstructing all view of the interior. 

Brendon really doesn’t know how calling works, or if he can even do it, but he tries hard anyway.

 _Spencer,_ he cautiously calls, praying hard Shane can’t hear. _Spencer, he’s going to prove he has Patrick. I’m going to find out where he is. When we jump back, get ready. Plan to knock Shane out or something, just make it good, ok?_

 _I’m counting on you,_ Brendon thinks to himself, before focusing back in on their trek towards the forest.

Surprisingly, Shane veers left before they reach the forest’s edge, and instead drags Brendon along a path that leads to rocky, jagged hills.

Brendon memorizes every step, every landmark, every single thing he possibly can that could help identify this place. Anything. Everything. He uses every inch of memory he has because he won’t let this be in vain. He won’t.

Ahead, Brendon can see some sort of shed, a hut, and he just _knows_ with growing dread that Patrick is in there.

He hopes desperately he isn’t far gone. That he still knows who he is.

“Patty boy,” Shane sings mockingly. “Guess who’s back! I brought company!”

There’s no response, but Brendon has no doubt Patrick heard. 

Shane unlocks the padlock and shoves the door open-

To nothing.

“What the _fuck?”_ Shane screeches, literally screeches, at the top of his lungs, shock so strong he lets go of Brendon unwittingly.

Brendon takes immediate advantage, sprinting pell-mell towards the forest, running fast, fast, faster!

He hears Shane’s shout of fury behind him but he ignores it, pushing himself to run as fast as possible, breath tearing from his lungs with each stride.

 _Spencer! He’s not here!_ he calls mentally, desperately. _He’s not here, but he was. He’s gone. I don’t know where this is. I have no idea if you can see what I’m remembering but I fucking hope so. If not, I’ll figure something out. But wherever Patrick is, Shane doesn’t have him._

He has to be here still, though, Brendon realizes. He can’t jump, not if Shane’s frozen him. 

He pushes on as fast as he can until he collides with something hard and crashes to the ground. He hesitantly looks up, biting his lip, and meets the fierce eyes of a complete stranger holding an iron bar.

“What’s your name, kid?” the stranger demands, grip visibly tightening on the weapon. “Who are you? Hurry the _fuck_ up!”

“My name’s Brendon, I’m just Brendon,” Brendon stammers. “I can’t jump, I just-I mean, Spencer found me, I’m with Spencer and Spencer found Pete and-”

The man raises the bar slightly and fire enters his eyes.

“Pete?” he snaps. “How do you know Pete?”

“Spencer!” Brendon pleads. “I’m just with Spencer, ok? Shane brought me here because-because I was trying to trick him but this isn’t how I though this would go.”

“Trick him?” the man asks sharply. “Make it fast.”

“I taunted him, saying I didn’t think he had Patrick,” Brendon explains desperately. He’s not sure this guy knows who Patrick is, but he presses on regardless. “I hoped he would be too egotistical to see though me and that he would show me. And it worked, except for how Patrick’s not here. So I ran. But I don’t know how to get back, I can’t jump-”

“I can,” the stranger interrupts. “And I know where Patrick is.”

“You do?” Brendon whispers, eyes wide. “Is he, I mean- Pete’s looking so hard for him, you know?”

“I’m positive he is,” the man replies, a little sadly. He lowers the metal bar and extends a hand to help Brendon to his feet. “I’m Travie.”

“Brendon,” Brendon says unnecessarily. “Um, yeah.”

“Ok, kid,” Travie mutters, looking around. “I’ll just jump us there. Hold on tight.”

Brendon nods and takes a deep breath.

—

They land much quieter than Brendon’s used to, and he immediately heeds the finger Travie presses against his lips meaningfully.

They’re deeper in the forest, Brendon can tell. The air is significantly cooler, the light muted through the leaves of the trees above. They’re in the center of the clearing, and Travie rests a firm hand on Brendon’s shoulder.

“Patrick,” he calls quietly. “It’s ok. I’m back.”

Patrick doesn’t answer, but Travie looks like he expected it.

“This is Brendon, he’s ok,” Travie continues gently. “He’s Spencer’s. They’ve talked to Pete, ‘Trick.”

“Pete?”

Brendon doesn’t recognize the voice, but for once he isn’t startled. He turns with Travie to face the opposite end of the clearing, where Brendon watches a small young man step hesitantly just outside the tree line.

Oh.

Brendon recognizes him now, recognizes his eyes and hair from Pete’s photo. All Pete’s quiet descriptions make so much more sense now, shining bright as Patrick steps closer. 

“You’ve seen Pete?” Patrick’s eyes are on Brendon now, and Brendon’s very aware of the sick bruises criss-crossing Patrick’s face. He swallows.

"Yeah,” he replies. “I mean, with Spencer. Spencer found Pete.”

“How’d you get here?” Patrick asks, no inflection. His eyes don’t leave Brendon’s.

“Spencer got caught by Shane,” Brendon says hesitantly. “Um, and I was sort of…taunting Shane? I wanted to see if he’d slip up and give away where you were. I didn’t realize he’d actually take me.”

“You’re the time stopper,” Patrick says, realization briefly crossing his face. “Pete mentioned you.”

“You hear him?” Brendon whispers, and Patrick tilts his head.

“I can’t respond,” he answers eventually. “But I hear everything he says to me.”

_Everything._

Brendon recognizes the pain that flicks across Patrick’s face. He’s seen it before, on Pete’s face. 

“Are you frozen?” Brendon asks shakily. He’s not sure if that’s an appropriate question or not, but he feels like he needs to know.

Patrick surveys him in silence for a moment before responding.

“Yes,” he answers simply. “I am.”

“I happened on him by chance,” Travie explains. “I’m one of the few jumpers Shane can’t control-and won’t try. I’ve lived outside his radar since my old boss died, and the only thing that got me jumping again was when I heard about Pete and Patrick.”

He looks over at Patrick, who looks away, biting his lip.

“Patrick and I grew up together,” Travie says. “Same group home. We realized we could jump around the same time. Then we got separated.”

Brendon doesn’t press. 

“Is Pete ok?” Patrick asks, voice quiet. There are a million other implications in that one question, and Brendon swallows hard. 

“I’m not sure,” he confesses. “He’s always looking for you.”

Patrick’s forehead wrinkles as he clearly tries to keep tears at bay. 

“I’m always hoping for him,” is what he eventually responds with, and it hits Brendon like a hurricane. 

“Oh, _Travie,”_ Shane’s voice cuts through the clearing harshly, and it absolutely stops Brendon’s heart. “Why did you have to get involved? Patty and I were handling it just fine. Besides, all Patty had to do for me to free him is just tell me where Pete is. It’s his fault he won’t.”

“You’re a fucking monster, Shane,” Travie spits. “You disgust me.”

“Oh, I assure you, the feeling is mutual,” Shane smirks. “And if you will excuse me, those two are mine.”

“No, they aren’t,” Travie snaps. “They’re running.”

Brendon needs no more cue than that, and Patrick is at least a full minute ahead of him, sprinting back into the forest with more speed than he looks like he could possibly have. Brendon’s eyes are locked on the ripped, dirty cardigan in front of him, following him because he has no other choice.

Patrick is fucking quick, but Shane can jump, and their escape is over before it gathered full steam. 

Shane brings up a shotgun Brendon didn’t even see and brings it down solidly over Patrick’s head with a sickening _crack._ Patrick collapses immediately and Brendon lets out a half-stifled scream of horror and time stops before he can consciously tell it to.

He stares at the scene in front of him, chest heaving and eyes filling with tears.

Patrick is crumpled on the ground, the blood that was gushing frozen with time. Shane is the picture of fucking evil, staring down at Patrick with murderous eyes, and Brendon chokes back a desperate sob.

He doesn't know what to do. 

“Brendon,” Travie says gently from behind him. “Brendon I have to get you back so you and Spencer can escape.”

“Patrick,” Brendon chokes out. “How can I leave him, Shane will kill him!”

“No, he won’t,” Travie’s voice is choked. “He’s the only way Pete will return. He won’t kill Patrick.”

“He’ll hurt him,” Brendon protests. “He’s already so-”

Brendon cuts himself off with another sob, and his heart is heavy.

“I know,” Travie whispers, devastation curling around his words. “Come on, Brendon. When we jump, time will resume, so we need to go fast.”

“How do you know where Spencer is?” Brendon asks numbly. “How are you not frozen? I don’t-”

“I know, it’s a lot,” Travie says softly. “This is a hell of a lot to go through right now. But trust me. Spencer called me, I listened. I will bring you to him. Trust me.”

Brendon drags in a shaky breath, eyes locked on Patrick’s limp body.

“Ok,” he whispers, and takes Travie’s hand. 

—

Brendon is numb, numb from the entire experience with Patrick. 

He told everything he could to Pete and Spencer, everything he remembered, and Travie told them the place.

It seems like a sick joke that it was Brendon’s era, just in the mountains by Tahoe. 

It doesn’t even matter, because Shane will surely move him now. But now Pete knows Patrick hears him, now Pete knows Patrick is alive, hurt but alive, and it seems to have relit a dying fire in Pete.

But Brendon is numb.

“Bren,” Spencer whispers into the darkness. “Brendon, talk to me.”

“About what,” Brendon mumbles, and Spencer sighs before scooping up behind him and wrapping an arm around him, tight.

“About you,” Spencer says, voice cracking. “Please, tell me how I can help. You’re not the same.”

Brendon bites back a sob and inhales deep. Spencer squeezes him gently, and Brendon’s next breath is shaky at best. 

“I couldn’t help,” he whispered, the darkness surrounding them seeming so much more vast now. “I couldn’t do _anything,_ and because of me Travie had to leave Patrick-”

“It wasn’t because of you,” Spencer interrupts firmly. “It wasn’t. Travie would have had to leave anyway. He can’t take Patrick anywhere, only Shane can, and if he stayed, Shane would've killed _him.”_

Brendon turns his face into the pillow, tears falling despite his best efforts.

“We’re going to find Patrick,” Spencer says firmly. “I know we are. Patrick is ok, he is much stronger than anyone would think. He knows who he is, he knows he’s frozen, he hasn’t lost himself. We’ll find him and bring him back.”

“What if we don’t?” Brendon’s voice is almost inaudible, and Spencer tenses.

“Come here, look at me,” he murmurs, tugging on Brendon’s shoulder until he turns around. “We can’t think about what happens if we don’t. It can’t be an option. Ok? I’m not saying pure, blind faith is what will get us to him, but Pete needs to believe. Or he’ll lose it. We are going to find Patrick. Fuck, to be honest Patrick will probably find us. Then lecture Pete about how close he is to giving in. And it will be ok.”

Brendon bites his lip. Spencer’s eyes almost glitter, even in the dark, and Brendon meets them hesitantly. He doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know what to feel. Everything that’s happened so far has been so _much._ Every event seems so much bigger than what happened before, and Ryan’s dorm room seems like a half-forgotten dream.

“I’m afraid,” he confesses. “I’m so scared, Spencer. I didn’t know there were people capable of this sort of cruelty, or at least I didn’t ever expect to meet them face to face. A week ago, all I knew about time travel was what I’d seen in _Back to the Future_ , and I was pretty sure I was dreaming my ability to stop time. It felt like I was stuck in a dream half the time, and this feels too real. I’m scared, so scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I was scared, too,” Spencer admits. “When Shane found me. He found me when I was lost after accidentally jumping before I even knew I could. He fooled me, at first. He seemed kind, he brought me home and explained he could help. Then I was roped in, and I knew there was trouble as soon as I saw Pete and Patrick and realized they were hopelessly trapped. By then it was just too late, so I played along. I didn’t have anything to lose, really, Shane had no one to hold against me. I figured if I kept my head down and mouth shut I could slip away eventually.”

“So you never resisted?” Brendon asks softly. “It makes sense. But why now? Why endanger yourself? Do you know something we don’t? Or are you just tired?”

“Now I have something worth resisting for,” Spencer says quietly, and Brendon frowns, looking at Spencer warily.

“What?” Brendon asks, and Spencer groans.

“You’re so clueless,” he whispers, and grabs his chin to kiss him. 

Oh, fuck.

Brendon fumbles until he finds Spencer’s shirt and grasps it, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Brendon gasps at the hint of teeth Spencer grazes across his lower lip and whines softly, pulling him back down. 

Oh, _fuck._

Spencer kisses mirror his confidence, he’s sure and strong and if they were standing, Brendon’s knees would be weak. 

As it is, Brendon’s heart is threatening to pound out of his chest, and the numbness that has clung is being chased away, aided by each inadvertent whine Brendon makes. 

Spencer pulls away, leaving Brendon breathless and grins, turning away a little. Brendon can barely see the flush in his cheeks and his stomach does a funny lurch.

He did that. He ruffled Spencer’s feathers. 

“So clueless,” Spencer reiterates quietly, still grinning, and Brendon leans in to kiss him again.

He can work with clueless. 

—

Travie has no leads. Nothing whatsoever, and the look on Pete’s face is heart-wrenching. 

“I put the Cobras on it,” he tells Pete firmly. “You know Gabe can find anything.”

“Yeah, except if Shane hides it,” Pete points out bitterly, and Travie sighs. Brendon takes that as an admission of truth.

“We are not going to quit,” Travie says. “None of us are going to quit. Gabe isn’t looking for just anyone. I told him, Pete. He knows he’s looking for Patrick and nothing will stop him, you know that. He hates Shane.”

Pete scrubs a hand across his face tiredly, and sighs, trembling.

“Wait,” Brendon says softly, realization dawning. “Didn’t Shane say he was gonna freeze…Mikey? Right?”

“And he did,” Travie says slowly, confused. “He and Gerard were dumped at their original home.”

“I mean,” Brendon says. “Now that he’s frozen, can Shane keep tabs on him? Or would he?”

“He can’t predict his movements anymore,” Spencer answers. “Or spy on him. But he knows where he dumped them, so he could check in if he wanted. Why?”

“What has he got to lose, then?” Brendon points out. “He’s frozen, his brother is frozen and grieving, what ties do they have to Shane besides hate?”

“None,” Pete breathes. “You’re a fucking genius.”

“Sorry,” Travie cuts in. “But I’m missing the genius.”

“Mikey,” Pete says. “We could talk to Mikey. He might have at least an _idea_ of where Shane might take Patrick.”

“And if Shane can’t watch him anymore,” Travie continues, slowly catching on. “He’d be able to answer.”

“If he could,” Spencer agrees. “It’s worth a try. We have nothing else to go on.”

“Not all of us,” Travie says. “Just me and Spencer. Pete, it’s too much of a risk to Patrick. Brendon, no offense but-”

“I know,” Brendon says quickly. “I do. Please be careful.”

“We will,” Spencer says softly, before swallowing hard and kissing Brendon gently.

“I see,” Travie says, when Spencer pulls away. Brendon feels Pete’s eyes on the back of his head, practically drilling holes, but he doesn’t turn around. “This explains a lot, Spencer. Nice development.”

He doesn’t look angry- more amused- and lays a hand on Spencer’s shoulder as he determinedly looks at the floor.

“Let’s go, Spence,” he says, and they vanish with that familiar rush of air.

Brendon stays rooted to the spot, and a long silence follows Spencer and Travie’s departure. 

Eventually, Pete sighs, walking up to pause shoulder to shoulder with Brendon.

“You understand,” he says. “What it’s like, now. When they’re gone and you can’t follow.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but Brendon blinks back sudden, hot tears, and nods.

“They’ll come back,” Brendon mumbles before clearing his throat and continuing. “They’ll come back and they’ll know where Patrick is.”

“Shane wanted you the second he saw you,” Pete says, instead of answering. “You were perfect to him, I’m sure. Meek, timid, seeking direction-at least, you look like that. Once he got to know you, he’d change his mind because you are anything but.”

Brendon snorts with a little self-deprecation.

“Well, my mother always said the meek would inherit the Earth,” he mutters. “I didn’t realize it meant every time period of Earth.”

“There’s really only one time period,” Pete says with a bitter laugh. “That’s what Patrick thinks, anyway. One time period-the time humans fuck up the world. It’s a story that just keeps repeating.”

Brendon sighs, and the silence grows.

“The meek don’t inherit the Earth, Brendon,” Pete says softly, eyes locked on the space Spencer and Travie had vacated. Brendon looks over at him, curious.

“No?” he asks, when Pete doesn’t continue.

Pete shakes his head.

“That’s just what the bold tell them, so they’ll get out of the way,” he whispers, and something in Brendon breaks.

They have two days left. 

—

Spencer and Travie haven’t returned.

“It’s been ten hours,” Brendon whispers desperately. “How long does it take? Even if they didn’t find Mikey right away? Or at all? They shouldn’t be gone so long.”

Pete doesn’t answer, the reassurances from hours ago dried up. He’s pale, a little sick looking, and Brendon doesn’t want to panic, he _doesn’t._

Pete’s already halfway there.

“Shane would be crazy if he froze Travie,” he mutters finally. “Absolutely crazy. It’s an insult to his intelligence to think he doesn’t know the consequences.”

Brendon’s not sure what the consequences are, but he guesses Travie’s pretty powerful.

“Spencer?” Brendon asks, voice trembling. “What if he froze Spencer?”

“He wouldn’t,” Pete says slowly. “If he did, he would forget where he jumped from. Shane can’t track me if I don’t jump, I’m off grid. And Lord knows he can’t track you, that’s why it was Spencer’s job.”

 _Where are they??_ Brendon wants to scream, but he clenches his teeth and forces it back. It won’t help, and it’s useless.

Brendon wants to cry, too, but he doesn’t do that either.

“What’ll we do?” he asks instead. “If they don’t come back, where do we go?”

“I don’t know,” Pete answers, tense. “We’re sitting ducks here, though. We might have to jump anyway, if that’s the only option we have.”

“Can we still jump if I freeze time?” Brendon asks, and Pete looks at him with a frown.

“Probably,” he replies. “It’ll be riskier, though, to you and me. And no guarantee Shane won’t eventually be able to track it.”

“There’s no guarantee Shane won’t eventually track us here,” Brendon points out. “We can’t be found, not if Travie and Spencer are, we’re all that’s left.”

His heart twists at the thought of Spencer, but he forces it away. Later, later is the time for desperation. 

Spencer would be disappointed if he freaked out now, after all. Kiss or no, Brendon’s not going to fuck this up. 

Even if the thought hurts.

“Travie, Spencer?” Pete calls quietly, for the thirtieth time. “You’re not responding. I hope to God you aren’t frozen. Brendon and I might have to jump if we’re here much longer. I’ll tell you where we land.”

He pauses, looking over at Brendon, biting his lip.

“Spencer, Brendon’s worried,” he adds, despite Brendon’s wide-eyed silent plea. “He cares about your dumb ass. If you got stopped, I’ll kill you. Only a little, but still.”

Pete clears his throat, and squeezes his eyes shut briefly.

“Patrick,” he whispers, and Brendon quickly looks away, a facade of privacy. “I love you.”

Brendon feels Pete lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and looks up, trying not to show how scared he actually is.

Pete swallows, and Brendon knows he hasn’t done a good job of that.

“Ok,” Pete says, almost more to himself. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do. On the count of three, you’re going to stop time. Everyone but me. Yes, I _know_ Spencer hasn’t taught you yet but you’ve got to try. If it takes a few tries, so be it. But when you do it-and I _know_ you will- I’ll jump us. It’s only a half second window that we could potentially jump invisibly, and we’re going to do it.”

“Where are we going?” Brendon asks, and Pete shrugs.

“I’m going blind,” he responds. “Means jumping without a destination. It ups our chances of jumping invisibly, but it’s also risky. We don’t really have a choice, though.”

Brendon nods, though he’s the total opposite of clear and understanding of this plan. He freezes time, that’s what he understood, and that’s all that really matters right now.

Pete glances at the door quickly before reaching out and wrapping an arm tight around Brendon.

“Ready?” he whispers, and Brendon nods. “One, two, _three.”_

Brendon inhales deep and time comes to a sudden halt. He exhales into the unnaturally still air and slowly turns to face Pete.

“How did I do that?” he asks numbly, and Pete laughs. 

“You’re guess is as good as mine, Bden,” he says, and holds Brendon tighter. “We’re gonna jump. I’m sorry if this fucks up.”

“It’s ok?” Brendon says uncertainly. “Nothing is more fucked up than what’s already happened, so.”

“Point taken,” Pete replies grimly. “Hold on.”

Brendon does, and surrenders to the sharp yank that jumping brings.

—

“Where are we?” Brendon asks without opening his eyes. “Because if we managed to jump right into Shane’s arms, I’d rather just go to sleep.”

“We didn’t,” Pete says, surprised. “Not even close. Open your damn eyes.”

Brendon obeys and throws a scowl over at Pete before looking around.

His jaw drops.

They’re on a beach, in the tropics judging by the warm winds breezing by. Over the lazy tide slapping at the sand, the sunset is brilliant, casting rays of orange and red over the darkening purple of the twilight sky.

It’s breathtaking. It’s fucking breathtaking. It’s so beautiful it almost seems unreal, and beside him, Pete’s covering his mouth to muffle the harsh sobs ripping from his diaphragm. 

“Pete?” Brendon asks uncertainly. “Pete, are you-” 

Pete holds a hand up and Brendon heeds it, stilling and going quiet immediately. He keeps his eyes trained on Pete, though, worry building in his chest.

Pete takes a shuddering breath before looking up at Patrick with red-rimmed eyes.

“This is why jumping blind sometimes sucks,” he says hoarsely. “Because you don’t control where you’re going. Your unconscious does. So this sometimes happens.”

“What sometimes happens?” Brendon asks, voice tiny. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Pete answers, with a pained shake of his head. “No, it’s- not like that, not the way you’re thinking.”

Brendon stays quiet, watching Pete carefully. He sighs shakily and sinks to the sand.

“This is where I first met Patrick,” Pete manages to say. “This is the exact moment.”

Brendon looks around, but the beach is deserted. 

“But where-” he starts, but Pete cuts him off.

“It’s not like that,” he repeats. “There’s only one of you. When you time travel, there’s still only one of you. You’re not imprinted through time. You’re not going to see me or Patrick.”

He laughs sadly.

“I’m only seeing it in my memory,” he whispers. “God, he was so fucking beautiful.”

“How did you meet him?” Brendon asks, settling on the sand next to him. He’s curious, but mostly he thinks it might help Pete. The locked up emotions are going to drive him crazy, and Brendon would rather that didn’t happen. 

Plus, if he asks about Pete, he won’t think about Spencer, which keeps the anxiety at bay.

Pete smiles, almost against his will.

“I was kind of an asshole,” he admits. “I was here, broke. I had used my last cent getting to California, and I had to duck out and run from the cab driver. I ran until I got to the beach and thought I lost him, and I turned around, and Patrick was there. He didn’t even notice me, not at first. And my entire mind just went quiet. Like everything I ever worried about didn’t matter, and I was kind of struck dumb.”

Brendon grins imagining it.

“Let me guess,” he laughs. “You hit on him with terrible pick up lines.”

Pete laughs, too, and shakes his head.

“Worse,” he says. “I stole from him.”

“Oh my god,” Brendon says faintly, not sure whether to laugh or be horrified.

“Well,” Pete corrects. “I tried to. The cabbie saw me and I didn’t know where to go, really, and I had nothing to go on, so I made what turned out to be a very bad decision. I grabbed his wallet and ran-or, tried. Unfortunately for my past self, sort of, was that Patrick already knew how to jump. And he was not taking that shit.”

“He caught you?” Brendon asks with a grin.

“Almost immediately,” Pete admits. “He saw the cabbie chasing me, caught up to me and jumped us both. We had just barely landed when he snatched his wallet back and started yelling at me, and I was just so confused I couldn’t even protest. I’d never jumped before, never even knew I could. Not only had this fucking _gorgeous_ stranger completely fucked with my whole sense of self, he also lectured me until I literally couldn’t think of anything to do but kiss him.”

“What did he do?” Brendon snorts, and Pete rolls his eyes.

“Slapped me,” he sighs. “He wasn’t having it. But, he realized I could jump and taught me how until I could almost jump ahead of him-almost. All we did was jump through time, and we just sort of….fixed things? It’s hard to explain. But we were very aware that something was fucking with the way things were and we just tried to fix it. That’s kind of how we met Shane. So to speak.”

“He was the one fucking with things, I assume?” Brendon asks, and Pete nods.

“And it was my fault,” Pete whispers. “We probably could have bullshitted our way out of his sights, but I had a record I was running from in the first place, and Shane said he could make it go away if I worked for him temporarily. And Patrick refused to let me stay alone, refused to leave, which is exactly what Shane wanted. So he got us both.”

Brendon reaches over slowly and squeezes Pete’s hand as misery slips back onto his face.

“That was five years ago,” Pete says quietly. “Five _years_ for “temporary” employment, and Patrick didn’t have to stay, didn’t deserve the way Shane treated-treats-him, but he wouldn’t leave me. He endured everything Shane did because of me, and I was so close to self-terminating. It was just a terrible situation to begin with because I hated Shane, I hated his jobs, I despised the way he treated people, especially Patrick. But it wasn’t until one of his close partners cornered Patrick, fucking predatory, that I actually lost control.”

“What happened?” Brendon asks before he can think better of it. Pete takes a shuddering breath. 

“I punched him,” Pete says, eyes dark. “Right in his fucking face. Broke his nose. Patrick grabbed me, pulled me back, and when it became clear the guy wasn’t getting up, jumped us far away. We had no idea what would happen after this, Patrick was worried for me and I was just-I was angry, so angry, and I wasn’t listening to him at all and that’s when he decided to turn my world upside down again.”

“He kissed you,” Brendon realizes. “That’s when Shane found out?”

Pete shakes his head.

 

“He didn’t find out right away,” Pete says. “I’m kind of shocked, actually. Almost two years of almost constant contact kind of drove us both mad because neither of us admitted anything to each other. So, once we did, it was kind of hard to not be in contact, ever.”

“You’ve been together so long,” Brendon whispers. “Oh fuck, Pete. How are you even going on?”

“He’d be so mad if I didn’t,” Pete chokes. “He’d be so disappointed and I _can’t_ disappoint Patrick, not ever. That’s how. I have no choice because everything that has happened is my fault and Patrick deserves better, but he chose me and I cannot lose him.”

“We’re going to find him,” Brendon says fiercely. “Even if I have to stop time for years as you jump around looking, we will find him.”

“I see what Spencer likes in you,” Pete says with a wry grin. “You’re optimistic to a fault, kid.”

“Someone has to be,” Brendon replies firmly. “So you’re stuck with it. Tell me; why did your subconscious drop us here? There has to be a reason beyond the sentimental.”

“I’m trying to figure it out,” Pete whispers, looking up and down the beach, which is still deserted. 

Unnaturally deserted, actually.

“Why is it so quiet?” Brendon murmurs rhetorically. “Something has to be up.”

“There’s something dropped up the beach,” Pete says slowly, squinting into the growing darkness. “Come on, we should move regardless. Find cover somewhere.”

Brendon pushes himself up and follows Pete in trepidation, heart beginning to race. The thing Pete spotted is clothing, wet and half-buried in the sand. 

It’s there so, so obviously. It was _placed_ there.

Brendon reaches forward with a shaking hand and pulls it up, off the ground, and to eye level. Brendon furrows his brows in confusion as Pete takes the ripped, red cardigan from him and swallows hard, pulling it close and hugging it.

“It’s Patrick’s,” Pete manages. “This is the last thing I saw him wearing.”

Brendon recognizes it now, from the short time he saw it on Patrick. 

“Is he here?” Brendon asks, and Pete holds up a hand.

“Patrick,” Pete calls, voice wavering. Brendon completely stills. “Patrick, are you here? Did you leave this, or did Shane?”

Pete squeezes his eyes shut and his lips move in what must be a silent plea for Patrick to reply, and he suddenly jerked, almost dropping the cardigan.

“What?” Brendon asks, eyes wide. “Pete, _what?”_

Pete inadvertently grabs Brendon’s arm hard enough to bruise, and glances up and down the beach again, shaking to his core.

“Hold on,” Pete mumbles, and Brendon hits him.

“Pete, what?” he demands. “What-”

“Patrick replied,” Pete says shakily. “And he said _run.”_

Brendon feels the yank begin and his heart drops before he stops time faster than he thought he could. Pete and Brendon slam into each other and hit the ground hard, Pete swearing and yanking at Brendon.

“Did you-”

“Look behind you,” Brendon says softly, trembling. His eyes are locked on the figure that caused his knee-jerk reaction, the figure that’s aiming what looks like a shotgun right at Pete’s head, finger already pressing the trigger.

“Fuck,” Pete breathes. “Holy fuck, how did you even see him?”

“I had a bad feeling first,” Brendon answers, edging closer to where Shane is thankfully frozen mid-shot. “Then I saw him, but before he was there? And it was just instinctual, I guess.”

“Fuck, you’re good,” Pete murmurs, walking up and staring Shane in the face. “This fucking _pig._ It probably took everything Patrick had to fight to reply to me, where do you fucking have him?”

“Pete,” Brendon says slowly. “Pete, he doesn’t. He was pointing the shot to _kill,_ he must have lost Patrick somewhere and is trying to cut his losses.”

“Fucker,” Pete snarls. _“Where is he?”_

“Call him again,” Brendon says suddenly. “Call him again, he replied once. It must mean he could reply again. Try.”

Pete nods quickly.

“Patrick,” he says urgently. “Patrick, where are you? Shane doesn’t have you, he was coming to kill me. I know you’re not dead. Where’d you go?”

“Spencer,” Brendon whispers under Pete’s pleas. “I still don’t know if you can hear me, but I don’t know what’s happening other than Shane evidently doesn’t have Patrick anymore. Can you hear me? Please, please, if you can, please answer me.”

“Yeah, Shane doesn’t have Patrick anymore,” Travie’s voice makes Brendon jump and Pete spin around desperately. “I would know, considering Shane had me and Spencer until Patrick saved _us.”_

“Figures,” Pete chokes, and Travie inclines his head. 

“See Shane’s forehead?” he asks, and Brendon glances over to take in the bloody gash that didn’t grab his attention much before. “Courtesy of your fed-up boyfriend, Pete. I don’t know what spurred him to attack, but I’m suspecting a combination of Shane kidnapping me and baby Spencer and hearing his plan to murder you in front of him that probably was the last straw.”

“Where is he?” Pete asks, voice absolutely raw. “Travie, _where-”_

“Safe,” Travie reassures. “He’s still a little weak and unused to jumping after staying frozen so long. He unfroze himself, by the way. Shane’s new little friend broke pretty quick and told Patrick where he had been going. He put _himself_ back together before taking out Shane.”

 _“Trick,”_ Pete breathes, and Travie holds out his hands for Brendon and Pete to take. 

“Come on,” Travie whispers. “I’ll take you there. Spencer is fucking frantic, Brendon.”

“Is he-” Brendon blurts out, glancing over at Pete quickly. He doesn’t want to interrupt this, even though the past few minutes hearing Travie’s story was torture, waiting to hear Spencer’s name.

“He’s fine,” Travie assures. “A little bruised, but fine. He’s got some spirit, I always forget that. The only thing he says is asking where you are and asking if you’re ok.”

Brendon’s heart flutters a little, and he clears his throat self-consciously. 

“Let’s go,” Travie repeats. Pete holds up a hand.

“Hold on,” he says, lips curling into a frankly terrifying sneer, turning to glare at Shane. “If I touch him, will time unfreeze?”

“No,” Brendon says, confused. “It’s like touching a mannequin.”

“Good,” Pete narrows his eyes. “It’s a shame Patrick won’t be able to help, but…”

In three breaths, Pete removes Shane’s gun, turns it around, and points it directly at Shane’s head, finger still pressed to the trigger, ready to fire as soon as time resumes.

“Fuck you, Shane,” Pete hisses. “Fuck you for everything you have ever done. I wish I had done this sooner.”

Brendon watches Pete with growing trepidation as he and Travie meet eyes and smirk.

“Brendon,” Pete says. “Turn around, cover your ears tight, and let time go.”

“Why do I have to turn around?” Brendon challenges, and Pete rolls his eyes. 

“You’re going to vomit, and I don’t feel like dealing with that,” Pete sighs. “So. Turn around.”

Brendon scowls but obeys, exhaling as time resumes and flinching hard at the loud gunshot that echoes even through his plugged ears.

Travie appears in his line of sight, still smirking.

“Let’s go, Bren,” he says finally. “We’re done here. Spencer’s waiting.”

—

“Where?” Pete demands the second they land. _“Where?”_

“Here.”

Pete turns so quickly he almost falls, and his entire face lights up faster than anything Brendon has ever seen. 

“Patrick,” Pete’s voice is tiny, broken, and it seems like they move at once to meet in the middle, Pete’s arms closing around Patrick and kissing him like it’s the only thing he can do.

“Pete,” Patrick’s voice is weaker than it had been the first time Brendon met him, but the sad undertone has disappeared, and he runs his fingers over Pete’s face. “Pete, you fucking-”

 

“Yeah,” Pete nods furiously. “Yeah, whatever you think, it’s true, it’s probably true, Patrick, I’m _sor-”_

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that,” Patrick snaps. “Don’t you dare, I don’t do anything because I have to, Pete, I fucking love you. I fucking love you, and I knew you’d never let Shane win. You just- you never stopped and you’re the strongest person I’ve met and I fucking love you, you’re stuck.”

“Good,” Pete whispers, gently brushing Patrick’s hair back from his bruise-covered face. “I never want anything else.”

Patrick kisses him fiercely, and Brendon’s heart lifts from the low place it rests when he thinks about Pete losing Patrick. The entire fucking world seems righted because they’re here, they’re back, they’re not apart anymore, and Brendon smiles softly as he heeds Travie’s leading hand out of this room and towards another closed door.

_“Brendon!”_

Spencer’s hoarse voice is the first thing Brendon hears as the door opens. His heart leaps and he reaches out blindly, letting Spencer grab for him and wrap him up close.

“Brendon, you’re ok, you’re ok,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I left you alone at all.”

“You had to go, Spence,” Brendon whispers. “Besides. Pete and I did alright.”

Spencer chokes on a laugh and kisses Brendon hard before pulling back and cupping Brendon’s face in his hands, and looking him over.

“You are the bravest idiot I have ever met,” he says, and Brendon grins, leaning up for a quick kiss. 

“Or the craziest,” he offers, and Spencer kisses the laughter out of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Spencer says, and Brendon holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my roommate for loving time travel! abigail and audrey edited, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> i really appreciate your feedback! it literally makes my day every time i see that people even kind of like what i'm doing. your support is phenomenal, so thank you.
> 
> i am on tumblr at smalltalktorture.tumblr.com! feel free to follow!


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